grumpy today.
‘Please, Julian, not in front of the child,’ says his mother.
‘I don’t like that expression, “the child”, Mum,’ says Naomi. ‘She does have a name.’ The words are a rebuke, but Naomi speaks them very gently and without any hostility. Penny is tense today. There’s that telltale working of her mouth when she isn’t speaking.
‘What’s “arseholed”?’ asks Emily.
‘It’s not a word you need to know, dear. It’s a word silly lawyers who’ve never quite grown up and still want to shock their parents use. It means having too much to drink.’
‘Dad used to get “arseholed” sometimes, didn’t he? He still gets “arseholed” sometimes when he takes me out for a meal. He has a double gin and then a whole bottle of wine and then he drives me home.’
‘Yes, yes, Emily. That’s enough. And does he indeed? Right.’
‘I prefer Dad when he isn’t “arseholed”. He’s much nicer. I don’t intend to get “arseholed” at all when I’m grown up.’
‘Yes, Emily, thank you, good, I’m really glad, you stick to that, but we’ve had enough of that word, thank you.’
Emily is six. She isn’t usually annoying, though sometimes she comes out with awkward things, the way children do. Once Auntie Constance, whom she doesn’t like – you can’t be made to like people just because they’re your auntie – had said, ‘You’re as bright as a button, aren’t you?’ and Emily had drawn herself up to her full height, which at the time was two foot eleven, and said, ‘I’m much brighter than a button, excuse me. I never saw a button do anything clever.’ Pink spots had appeared on both of Auntie Constance’s cheeks.
There’s a welcome crunch of gravel.
‘They’re here!’
Relief sweeps over Penny’s face. Emily dances up and down. She loves Uncle Clive and Uncle Antoine. She takes them completely for granted and has never seen anything funny in their being two men together, but then she has no concept of the idea of a lover. Long may she not have.
But it’s the delight on the faces of Penny and William that amazes Naomi. She hasn’t realised how far they have travelled since they first met Antoine over twelve years ago, when she was eighteen. How embarrassed they had been in 1978. How affectionate they are in 1991. Clive and Antoine enter with beaming smiles and exciting parcels. The whole mood lifts. Well, no, not quite. Julian’s mood doesn’t lift. He never exchanged another word with Teresa after Naomi’s eighteenth birthday supper, but to him Antoine will always be what Teresa called him, ‘That Frog poofter.’ On the surface it’s prejudice, but deep down it’s even sadder than prejudice. Deep down it’s a defence mechanism against the sight of a man being so much more at ease with himself than he is.
There’s a round of kissing in the French style, on both cheeks and slightly formal. Even William, not a natural kisser, manages to kiss both Clive and Antoine, and does it with a bit of panache. ‘You’ve turned us all French now, Antoine,’ he says with shy pride.
Clive and Antoine don’t kiss Julian, though. His face is set in unkissable mode. His face is like a Pennine crag.
And almost immediately Antoine is on the floor, level with Emily, in front of the cosy, crackling winter fire.
‘So, Emily, do you want me to help you with the jigsaw or do you want to finish it on your own?’
‘Help me, please, Uncle Antoine.’
Naomi and Clive give each other a long, loving hug. Julian pours himself another sherry. Antoine finds a piece of sky. Emily squeals with delight. Penny’s mouth moves anxiously. Something is up.
‘What about the presents?’ asks Emily from the floor.
‘After lunch,’ says Penny.
‘Are you sure, Penny?’ asks William.
‘Well, no. Yes, now.’
Naomi realises that this exchange is meaningful. She just doesn’t know what the meaning is.
‘Julian,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘The day you don’t hand round the presents, this house won’t be L’Ancresse any more.’
Julian pretends not to be pleased.
Clive and Antoine have brought lovely presents for everyone, they’re really good at presents, and living in Paris does help, though how they get them all on the plane is a mystery. But things like weight restrictions don’t matter to Antoine. He charms his way through.
In their turn, Clive and Antoine express great delight at the presents they have been given.
‘Late night last night?’ asks Julian.
‘Yes,’ says Clive. ‘Good party. Francis Bacon was there.’
‘Name dropper.’
‘Excuse me, we hate name dropping,’ says Antoine from the floor, where he has just found the piece that completes the funnel. ‘I was saying so to Brigitte Bardot only yesterday.’
‘Who’s Brigitte Bardot?’ asks Emily.
‘A beautiful French actress who was better treated by animals than by people,’ says Naomi.
‘But that’s not why we’re late, Julian,’ says Clive. ‘We set off in good time. Had a problem with the ruddy car. Hire cars!’
‘Right,’ says Penny firmly, finding a suitable cue at last. ‘Well, you’re here anyway. Lunch.’
They take their seats at the table. The dining room smells even more of disuse now that all the children have left home. The table is plainly laid, as ever, but there are crackers.
‘I know it’s not Christmas,’ says Penny, ‘but Emily loves them.’
‘Uncle Antoine loves them too,’ says Emily.
They pull their crackers, with much laughter as Julian is left without any of the insides of either of the two crackers he’s pulled, laughter which is killed stone dead when he says, ‘You see. Can’t even pull crackers.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for paper hats,’ he says, but Naomi says, ‘Julian!’ and she can wind this gruff, awkward brother of hers round her little finger. He puts on his paper hat – it’s a bright yellow crown – without protest.
‘What do you get if you cross a fish with two elephants?’ reads out Clive.
‘A very large bouillabaisse?’ suggests Antoine.
‘No. Swimming trunks.’
There is a loud, communal groan, but Emily laughs with delight.
Penny begins to serve the meal. She has made a special curry, not quite so hot, for Emily. Naomi waits for her to
